


Soul Heavy

by writerllofllworlds



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressed Peter Parker, Depression, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, I'm Sorry, M/M, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Precious Peter Parker, So much angst, Suicide Attempt, This hurts, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerllofllworlds/pseuds/writerllofllworlds
Summary: “I think that sometimes, some people are born with happy personalities and heavy souls,” Peter admitted gently.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 39
Kudos: 678
Collections: The Best Irondad/Spiderson Fics, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, The Best of the Best MCU Fics





	Soul Heavy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry about this. I think I have a depressed Peter Parker kink. 
> 
> ANYWAY PLEASE BE WARNED THIS TACKLES TOUGH SHIT. 
> 
> I love you guys and want you safe.

Steve could not remember seeing Peter Parker without bags under his eyes. As he watched the younger hero lift Natasha up in the air (much to the assassin’s displeasure) and laugh, mouth open in loud bellows of happiness, he questioned when that had begun. Did he lose sleep because of the guilt that weighed heavily on all of them for all the people they could not save? Or did it stem from nightmares, another curse they all bore in one way or another, and fears that were rooted so deeply in the boy so early in his life? Or was it the anxiety of being perfect and wanting to be accepted that spurned him to stay up into the wee hours of the night, trying desperately to make himself worth  _ enough _ ? Did it start when he was little? Did it start after the Vulture Incident, a villain takedown that neither he or Tony would speak of in-depth, or perhaps it stemmed from the Snap. 

His blonde brows furrowed in determined concern. Peter walked around with the mentality that all he needed was the sun to shine and he would be happy. Well, the kid was grateful for lightning and stormclouds if he had to be. And there was the kicker. 

If he had to be. 

Before they had gotten everyone back, May would sometimes talk about how Peter forced himself to be happy so that other people could feel happy. He had a habit of pushing all his negative emotions down, hide them under layers of giggles and smiles and rosy cheeks until everyone around him felt like it was Christmas. He could flip a switch and in seconds, whatever tears he might have shed were replaced by an overwhelming brightness in those chocolate eyes. He would crack a joke to make Bucky smile after a flashback. He would challenge Natasha to a sparring match, knowing full well that he would lose, just to make sure she felt like she was in control again. He would come up with biochem puns to help Bruce lighten up after a stressful mission. He would sing the National Anthem whenever they were somewhere unfamiliar(yet beautifully damn kid) so that Steve would feel comfortable. He learned sign language just to make Clint feel less alienated. 

He did all that and more. He thought of everyone before he ever thought of himself. Was that causing the darkness under his eyes? Did he lose precious, much-needed sleep just so that he could love people a little more?

Sometimes Steve looked at Peter and wondered if the boy from before Thanos ever came back from the Soul Stone. 

“Cap!”

He raised his eyes to the kid. He was waving him over, already rolling his shoulders back. Right. He was always his partner after Natasha had loosened him up or gotten tired of his shenanigans (she adored Peter, not even her death glare could hide it), and it appeared that she was done. Those big brown eyes shone with excitement and glee, and it made him look so young. In moments like this, Steve sometimes forgot that this  _ child  _ had seen war. 

They all forgot that. 

He stood, brushing imaginary crumbs off his sweatpants and cracking his neck. “I’m comin’ kiddo.”

“Come on, Grandpa,” Natasha smirked, deliberately bumping Peter’s shoulder as she passed him. “Try and beat the little Spider. He’s gotten better, you know.”

“Oh I know,” Steve managed a convincing grin of his own. “More fun when it’s a challenge anyway.”

Peter bounced eagerly before adjusting into a sparring stance. He smiled one of those winning smiles, and Steve’s heart clenched. He copied the form and felt the softest grin slide onto his lips. He hoped to convey all the emotions he was feeling into one firm and adoring look. All the support and encouragement and love he felt for this precious human being. He hoped that Peter would understand. 

The kid’s eyes widened slightly for a moment. It was a minuscule change, but Steve saw it. And the knowledge that he knew the hero was looking out for him, that he knew someone had his back, was enough for now. 

“Alright, Pete. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

_ Don’t worry, kid. I’m here _ .

The grin that crinkled those freckled cheeks wasn’t as big as before, but it felt more real. Steve counted that as a win. 

  
  
  


Morgan still didn’t fully understand how she had an older brother all of the sudden, but he made Daddy happy so she just kind of rolled with it. Besides, Peter was really cool and he always played Legos with her even when he was busy, so she guessed she could overlook any gaps of logic. 

“What are you building now, Petey?”

He looked up at her, hands in a pile of multicolored Legos. Beside him was the framework of… something. His lips tilted upwards in a smile that never failed to make her feel warm all the way down to her toes. “I’m building Minas Tirith, Princess.”

She felt her brow furrow and she stuck out her lower lip in a confused pout. “What’s Minas Tirith? Is it cooler than my fairytale castle?”

Peter laughed. “I think Minas Tirith is pretty cool. It’s from my favorite book.”

She tiled her head. “What book?”

“ _ The Lord of the Rings _ , Mag,” he placed several new white and grey pieces to his growing tower. “It’s kind of like a castle.”

“Oh,” she scooted closer, her own creation completely forgotten. “Can I help?”

He chuckled. “Of course, Maguna! We can show Clint when he comes next week. He loves those books too.” 

“Uncle Clint swears a lot.” 

“Yeah, yeah he does. Does that bother you?”

The five-year-old shook her head, beginning to build the wall of her brother’s sculpture. “Can I tell you a secret?”

Peter immediately leaned closer and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Of course, Princess. You know you can trust me.”

She took a deep breath. “I like it. The… bad words. I think they’re funny.”

He snorted and ruffled her hair. “Me too, kiddo.”

“You can’t tell Daddy though. He doesn’t like that kind of talk,” she mumbled, resuming her wall fortification. 

“My lips are sealed.” he mimed zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key. 

Morgan giggled. “Daddy does that too.”

“What? Oh, the key thing?” 

She nodded. 

Peter grinned. “My Uncle Ben used to do it all the time when we would talk about secrets. It always made me feel like he would never spill anything.”

“Did he?” the child hummed curiously. “Spill anything?”

Peter looked away for a second, busying himself with gathering more Legos. Something changed in his shoulders though. She looked closer and watched them fall. Her eyes narrowed and she moved to see his face. 

Oh. He looked sad.

Morgan wondered if every adult looked like that sometimes. They all talked a big game of being strong, but she didn’t believe them sometimes. She’d seen Mommy and Daddy look that way, with their wet eyes and their frowns. Sometimes Uncle Bruce looked like that, and Auntie Tasha. Bucky and Steve would get like that too, especially at night after they came back from a trip. 

She had never seen Peter look like that. She really didn’t like it. Out of all the big people in her life, he was the one who never looked like  _ that _ . 

He needed to stop. 

“Petey?”

Her big brother swallowed, and when he met her eyes, he still looked like  _ that _ . “Yeah, Maguna?”

“Are you okay?”

A second passed and then it was like someone had turned on the light. Peter’s eyes brightened and his huge smile returned. The bad feeling in her stomach disappeared entirely and she settled back on the floor. That was much better. 

“Of course I am, Morgie! Oh! Do you wanna hear about what my friend told me about the new animals they’re bringing to the zoo next week? I heard there were going to be some new lion cubs…”

He kept talking and everything went back to normal. Morgan nodded, satisfied that the fluke had been fixed. Peter shouldn’t look sad. Peter was a happy person. Happy people don’t get sad. 

  
  


Clint watched people. He’d done it forever. To read lips, he had to learn to watch people like a hawk. When he joined SHIELD, he had to do it even more, and now, he was a hero (retired, shut up Anthony), and a father. He could watch people and analyze them sometimes better than Natasha could just because he was deaf and  _ had  _ to do it. It was natural for him to always look at someone’s face when they entered a room or whenever they moved. He had gotten used to keeping an eye on everyone in his vicinity, just to make sure. 

So when they were all gathered in the “den” of the Tower watching the new  _ Wonder Woman _ movie, he noticed Peter. The whole gang was crowded together on three couches and spread all over the floor. Ever since Thanos, they had a monthly movie night. It usually ended lasting more than a single night because people didn’t want to leave “just yet” and all that. The Guardians had managed to show up this time and were all crowded on the floor, one on top of the other. Even Stephen had made an appearance. He was currently chatting with Bruce in the kitchen as they refilled their drinks. Natasha was beside Rhodey, Pepper and Tony; Morgan was seated on her mother’s lap. Loki and Thor were bundled together, leaning up against Nat’s legs. Nebula was on Tony’s other side, chin pressed against her hand as she struggled to stay awake. Wanda was next to Clint, her feet tucked beneath his thigh. One big freaky family. Clint found himself smiling fondly. Who knew that it would all end like this?

The kid was snuggled between Bucky and Steve; Sam was on Bucky’s left. Both super soldiers had an arm around the kid. His head rested on the blonde’s chest and his legs were in the brunette’s lap. They were curled up on the small couch in the corner, the light from the TV casting a bluish color on their faces. He looked very peaceful. 

Or at least he would have if Clint had been any less of a good “watcher”. 

There was something in the way that Peter played with his hands. It wasn’t cute finger twisting or the stuff the kid did when he was excited. It was… picking. He was picking at the skin around his nails. He looked a little closer. There were bandaids around some of his fingers already. It was a habit then. 

Peter’s hands were pretty sensitive. All his senses were dialed up to eleven after the bite, but touch was one of the bigger ones. Clint remembered a mission where he had gotten his hands burned and he had screamed in pain. They all thought he’d been electrocuted or something. They learned pretty quickly after that to be careful with the kid’s hands. 

That meant he was deliberately causing himself intense pain by messing with his fingers. That did not sit well with Clint. 

He had seen anxiety and depression. He knew what PTSD could do to people; Hell, most of the people in this room had a screwed up mental state. For some reason, the idea of Peter feeling any of that hurt worse, hit different. Maybe it was because he was a father, or maybe it was because Peter was a literal incarnation of the word ‘good’. He knew the kid had had a rough life, and that he understood darkness more than anyone his age should. He also knew the kid smiled brighter than fireworks on the Fourth of July and that his laugh sounded prettier than harmonizing bluebirds. 

He also knew that depressed people could hide it pretty fucking well.

“Hey, Rogers and Barnes!” 

The kid and those around him glanced over. 

“Share the kid, would ya?”

The soldiers narrowed their eyes in mock anger. Peter, to his credit, chuckled softly and tried to stand. “Jealous, Barton?”

“Hey, I haven’t gotten Parker cuddles in like, two months. They can share you for one evening. Besides, Bucky and Steve probably wanna make out or something and I wanna spare you from such a horror.” 

“Wait,” Tony held up a gold-and-red-plated finger. “What about me? I feel like Irondad should have some higher cuddle privileges.”

“You get Peter cuddles all the time, Tones,” Rhodey snorted. 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want  _ more _ ,” the retired hero stuck his tongue out at his best friend. 

Peter succeeded in pulling out of the clutches just as Steve launched a pillow at his teammate’s face. The teen laughed as he maneuvered his way over legs and the other Avengers’ bodies to reach Clint, making sure to grasp Tony’s hand on the way over (them two were big on physical affection nowadays. Oh how things change). Wanda moved to the side just enough so that he could squish between them. Peter immediately acclimated, wiggling until he could rest his head on Clint’s shoulder. The witch ran her ringed fingers through the kid’s curls and he hummed happily. The man’s heart skipped at the pleased sound. That was better.

“Hey bud,” Clint whispered as everyone settled back down. 

“Hey, Clint,” the boy replied, just as soft and tender. He reached up to resume what Wanda had started and began combing his hand through the kid’s crazy locks. He sunk further into the older hero’s embrace, burrowing into the blanket around the pair. “Comfy.”

He snorted. “Good. God knows we gotta keep the golden boy happy.” 

Peter hummed. Clint wondered if he knew that he had seen the finger thing, the darkness in the kid’s eyes. Peter wasn’t used to being noticed like that. That was the point. Peter didn’t want his misery to show. 

Self-sacrificial idiot. 

“Hey, Pete?” Clint whispered even quieter. 

“Yeah?” the boy answered, matching his timbre. 

“You’re safe here, kiddo.” Clint wasn’t sure if he meant in his arms, or on this couch between he and Wanda, or in this room or the Tower or just with this weird, dysfunctional, kick-ass family. Whatever made Peter feel safe made him happy. If he was part of that deal, then great. 

Peter froze in his hold. Clint wondered how many times people actually made sure to tell the boy that he was safe. He tightened his hold on the kid and kept playing with his hair. “You are complete, utterly, one hundred percent safe right here.” 

The kid swallowed and said nothing. But he did lean even closer, tucking his head in the juncture of the older hero’s shoulder and chin.

With his free hand, Clint pulled Peter’s damaged fingers into his lap and held them there. They stayed there for the rest of the movie. And if after that, when the others had disappeared to bed or whatnot, and Clint stayed up to put more bandaids on Peter’s injured skin, well, that was just for them. 

And F.R.I.D.A.Y., he supposed. 

They had lost someone. It wasn’t their fault. Sometimes they could take the blame for casualties, but not this time. Even the press accepted that. It had been a suicide. Sometimes those were worse than the ones they could take responsibility for. 

Shockingly, Peter was one of the most composed out of all of them as they dealt with the fallout. Tony, who was retired due to the lack of an arm, had been watching from the Tower and had immediately run to be with Pepper and Morgan. Sam and Bucky had been the ones nearest to the girl when she’d jumped, and were both dealing with it by punching things in the training area. Even Natasha was having trouble. 

Peter had gone to each of them (barring Tony because he was in a different part of the city) and promised that if they needed to talk, he was there. 

Sam wondered if he needed someone to say the same to him. Peter might actually talk about the sadness in his eyes if any of them were man enough to ask about it. 

“Heyah, kid. How you holding up?” 

He was leaning over one of the balconies on the communal floor. The sunset was making his hair look golden brown and his eyes sparkled. 

“You’re looking particularly contemplative.” 

Peter snorted. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“You thinking about her?” 

He nodded. “Just… taking your own life. It’s a lot to think about.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to understand,” Sam agreed, knocking their shoulders together. Peter always reacted well to physical contact. It helped him calm down. “It’s usually a mixed bag of lots of things. Depression, anxiety, any lack of mental health.”

“I think that sometimes, some people are born with happy personalities and heavy souls,” Peter admitted gently. “Sometimes people are happy, they  _ are _ , but there is a weight to their lives that never leaves. It’s just… there. And sometimes that results in depression.” 

“That was profound,” Sam observed after a few moments of comfortable silence.

“My Uncle Ben was on the police force,” the kid explained. “He would say it that way. He had to deal with a lot of people who had heavy souls. There was this one kid, only a little older than me, who had slit his wrists really badly. Ben held him until help came.”

Sam felt that this wasn’t a happy story.

“He had been dead for seven minutes by the time the paramedics showed up.” there it was. “Ben would always ask about how I was doing after that. Always make sure I was eating and sleeping and communicating. Checked my wrists a lot too, after that.” 

Perhaps unconsciously, Peter ran his bandaged fingers across the pulse point right below his palm. 

Perhaps consciously. 

Sam wanted to ask. He wanted to ask if Ben ever found what he was looking for. 

“He sounds like a good man.” 

Peter smiled softly. “He was the best.”

Sam made a point to ask Peter how he was doing every time he saw him after that day. Peter noticed. 

And he smiled. 

Rhodey could see that Peter was exhausted. It wasn’t physical exhaustion either. That one was easier to pinpoint, sure, and it was far easier to cure. The kind of fatigue that the kid was suffering from went deeper, probably deeper than any of them realized. 

The kid had stumbled into the living area of the Tower looking like a drowned cat. He was soaked to the bone and his Spiderman suit looked almost maroon because of the moisture. He had a few darker spots, but none of them in essential places, so Rhodey let the injuries slide in favor of the dullness in the boy’s eyes. 

“Pete? You alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I just need the, uh, well.”

He was already standing and walking over to the boy when he collapsed. He caught him by the armpits and helped him hobble over to sit at the kitchen counter. He began to help Peter strip out of the Spiderman suit so that he could treat his wounds. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Let me call Tony and get him-,”

“No, no, it’s date night.” 

Rhodey might have short-circuited. His hand froze as it reached for the extra bandages kept in the cabinet beside the fridge. “Pardon?”

Peter huffed, as if the answer was self-explanatory. “It’s date night for Pepper and D-Tony.”

Still not getting it, the retired soldier stalked over to the boy. “Yeah, and I can’t see a reason why they can’t reschedule for another time. You’re bleeding out on the stool, Peter.”

“It’s nothing important,” the teenager flexed his shoulders, probably to release some of the pent up soreness. “I just swung by to - to get my homework. I left it here yesterday and I need it to study for my test on Thursday.”

Rhodey wasn’t buying the excuse for a single second. He reached for the ugly scrape on the kid’s arm. “Peter, Tony would want to know that you’re hurt.”

“That’s not what he said last time.” 

Apparently, he hadn’t meant to say that, because he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth and his eyes shot wide. Rhodey stiffened, gauze clenched tightly in his hand. 

“I didn’t mean to-,”

“What are you talking-,”

Both their voices exploded at once and they jumped at the sudden volume increase. Rhodey recovered first. “Pete, buddy, what are you talking about? Tony would never-,”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. He was busy with Morgan and I was being distracting,” He turned his face away, and he began shaking. Anxiety. “It’s fine.”

“Pete, Tony would never turn you away if you were hurt. I’m calling him and he’ll come.” 

“He turns off his phone on Date Night,” Peter cleared his throat, still not looking at him. “Besides. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. Rhodey took a deep breath. God, he knew that Peter wasn’t Tony’s biological son, but sometimes he wondered how accurate those paternity tests were. “Let me patch you up then. Okay?”

Without the threat of messing up Tony’s date, Peter was surprisingly compliant. Rhodey would rub his neck any time the boy winced or cringed, and that seemed to help with the pain. By the time they were done, he was smiling softly and looking a little more like his normal self. 

Except for that damn look in his eyes. 

“Peter… you know you’re not a burden to any of us, right?”

The kid stood suddenly, wincing as he settled weight on his injured leg. “Have a good night, Rhodey.”

“Peter!”

Rhodey wasn’t fast enough. By the time he made it to the balcony doors, Peter had already swung away. 

Sometimes Rhodey wondered if Peter was sorting through chaos when he went quiet. It was so odd to hear nothing from the kid’s lips. He watched the boy go, a sense of dread filling his core. 

Something was wrong. 

Something was wrong with Peter Parker. 

  
  


“Fucking  _ fuck _ . Shit, shit,  _ shit _ .”

Natasha froze in the hallway. Peter didn’t swear. 

She slowly pushed open the door to Peter’s room. The room was dark but she could see the glow from the bathroom lights under the closed door. Silently making her way over to the cracked entrance, she tilted her head to listen closer.

“Holy shit, shit,” his breathing was erratic and scared. “This is not what I - that’s a  _ lot  _ of blood,  _ fuck _ .”

She had heard enough to make her heart jump. She threw open the door and beheld the awful sight in front of her. Peter Parker was standing over his sink, blood dripping down his wrists in horrible rivets. The white marble was stained, the dark red standing out in the worst possible way against the clean surface. He had a busted lip. His arms were shaking and his eyes were wider than dinner plates. They brimmed with tears. A razor had been discarded on the floor in his panic, she assumed, but it too was red stained. 

Anger swooped through her. It filled her to the bursting point and she leveled him with one of her most well-honed glares.

“It’s not what it looks like. I was shaving-,”

“Shaving your fucking  _ wrists _ , Parker? At two in the morning?”

“I like doing it at strange hours; don’t judge me.”

“Peter, Peter. Look at me. Right. Now.” 

He raised glassy eyes to meet hers. 

“Have you tried to kill yourself?” 

The change in his demeanor was immediate. Natasha had seen switches in people before. She had seen Bucky go from carefree and loving to a murder machine in a second. She had seen Bruce go from the calmest man in the room to one who was eight feet tall, green, and angry. She had seen Tony go from the most confident, suave person to a broken and sorry man. 

However, the most drastic and probably the most harrowing of all the transformations was the one happening right in front of her eyes. 

Peter Parker, smiles and grins and childlike laughter. Peter Parker, hugs and rainbows and jokes. Peter Parker, hero and savior and battlefield quips. 

Peter Parker, bloody wrists and dead eyes. 

The scariest smile she had ever seen graced the boy’s bloody lips. “I’m fine, Nat.” 

Natasha didn’t scare easily. Hell, she didn’t faze at all easily.

But that look? That look of sheer emotional deadness?

That was horrifying. Not because she hadn’t seen it before, no. 

Because it was on Peter Parker.

And that was the last place it should be.

She stumbled backward, hoping that if she tried hard enough she could wake up from this God-forsaken nightmare. Her own breathing scattered and she shoved herself out of the room. She didn’t know what drove her to run away from the clearly broken boy, what spurred her to leave the probably suicidal kid  _ on his own _ , but she couldn't think. She just ran. 

Peter Parker wasn’t depressed. Peter Parker  _ couldn’t  _ be depressed. He was the only one of them that was still  _ whole _ . He was still good and pure and had a future ahead of him. He couldn’t be like that girl a few months ago, or that boy months before that, or all the other people who had taken their lives because of the sadness that was swallowing them whole. He couldn't’ be like them because he was  _ Peter _ . 

She made it all the way to Sam’s room when reality hit her. She slammed her fist to Sam’s door. He answered in record time and when he saw her face, he didn’t even ask questions. He just  _ understood _ . 

He sprinted down the hall towards the elevator that would lead to Peter’s floor, to Peter’s room. God, why were they on separate floors? Why had Tony decided it was a good idea to separate the suicidal kid from his family? Did Tony know? Was Tony, asleep at his cabin in the countryside, aware that his son was bleeding out on his bathroom floor? Did he  _ know _ ?

She ran to get Steve and Bucky. 

“Nat?” Steve answered the door, his husband groggily at his heels. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s - it’s  _ Peter _ .” 

That was enough. Maybe the others had noticed. Had they noticed too? Did they know?

How had they let it get this far?

Bucky grabbed her hand and jerked her after them. Together, the familiar trio raced to the elevator. 

“FLOOR IT FRIDAY!” Bucky screamed at the AI. She seemed to listen. Why she hadn’t alerted any of them, Natasha didn’t know. She hoped it wasn’t what she expected. She hoped it wasn’t because Peter had been thinking about this for a while. She hoped Peter hadn’t planned this and coded F.R.I.D.A.Y. to not notice anything strange until it was _ too late. _

They sprinted out of the elevator and rounded the corner. Sam ran out of Peter’s room, face crestfallen. Natasha’s heart stopped. 

“He’s gone.” 

_ Have you tried to kill yourself? _

Natasha leaned to the side just in time to throw up her dinner. 

The next time they saw Peter, he was throwing Morgan into the air as Pepper and Tony watched on, smiles wide as they watched their daughter and her brother be adorable. It was like nothing had happened. 

Nat realized they didn’t have the time. 

There wasn’t enough  _ time _ . 

  
  


May ran a hand through those dark locks. “You know I love you, right?”

Not  _ you can talk to me _ or  _ don’t you trust me _ .

May had years of practice with Peter. She knew that after everything he’d been through, every loss and shitstain on his life, he was a talker. He talked and talked and talked, and he would continue to talk until the cows came home. It was his way of deflecting, of appearing happier than the sun on a cloudless day. 

So when Peter looked up at her with those wide, searching, heartbroken eyes, she knew. That was all the boy needed. He didn’t need to talk right now; he didn’t need to chatter until his voice disappeared just to convince people that he was fine. He didn’t have to babble about forensic science to get Tony off his back, or prattle on about the newest Sci-Fi show to confuse Bucky and Steve enough that they wouldn’t see the sadness in his shoulders. It was just May, who knew Peter better than she knew anything else in the entire world, and May was safe. 

Peter sniffed, but he didn’t cry. She hadn’t expected him to. For all the jokes the Team made about him being emotional, he wasn’t a crier. He had lost so much, had been hurt so badly, that tears didn’t come easily anymore. Life had taken care of that. 

He leaned into her side and let himself break for a little while. The moonlight came through the open window, a lovely breeze rustling the curtains. She could hear Harold’s even snores down the hallway, and Peter was there at her hip, breathing easily and seeming more at peace than he had in months. Both of her boys under one roof, a little less broken than they had been the day before. 

He gave so much love to other people that he didn’t have any left for himself. 

She wanted to ask about the razors, the bloodstains on the sheet and the bathtub. She wanted to check his wrists and his thighs, wanted to count how many times he had hurt himself because of his sorrow. But more than all of that, more than any of the maternal fury and fear that she felt the first time she saw the letters in her kid’s closet, she wanted to ask if he was waiting for her to tell him it was okay. She wanted to ask if he was praying someone would finally look at the deep sadness that permeated every single cell of his body and tell him that he could  _ rest _ .

Because sometimes,  _ sometimes _ , a person is too good for the world they’re born in, and sometimes,  _ sometimes _ , it’s okay for them to let go. 

And more than anything, she wanted to tell him that he had done enough, more than enough. 

He could let go. 

“I larb you too,” he croaked. 

It wasn’t asking for permission, not this time, but May was waiting for it. And if he did ever ask, if he ever felt that it was the only way he could finally find his peace, if it was the only way he could be happy, her answer would be the same. 

“I’m glad,” she leaned down and kissed his forehead, pulling him into her embrace. Maybe if she held him tight enough she could make all the dark thoughts go away. It had always worked with the nightmares under the bed. “Because I do. I love you so much, Peter. And I will never stop loving you. Never.” 

_ I promise. Even if you do it, even if you feel like I would hate you, I won’t. I will love you _ . 

“I’m glad you love me too, May.”

She smiled and pulled him even closer. For now, she would bask in her precious son’s presence. For now, she would let the future deal with itself and all its possibilities and just  _ be _ . Maybe that’s all Peter needed her to do. 

  
  


Some idiot had decided to kidnap Morgan Stark. 

Rhodey and Peter were the only ones needed to rescue her. They stormed the warehouse and took down everyone in their way to save the little genius. She was mostly unharmed, but Peter quickly gave her to her uncle so that he could fly her to the Tower to get her checked over. They were almost out when the lights went out. 

“Rhodey. Go.”

“I’m not leaving you here kid. No way.” 

“Petey?”

Peter swallowed. He kissed Morgan’s forehead swiftly and pulled back, shoving them towards where the exit was. There was a faint light above them, but all three of them wouldn’t make it. Someone had to stay and fight. He let out a shaky breath. “Rhodey, you have Morgan and your suit is damaged. You can’t fight.  _ Go _ .”

Peter was right. He knew this. But as he listened to the even breaths that were escaping the young hero’s lips, they sounded an awful lot like a goodbye. 

And that - that was not fucking okay. 

“Rhodey. You know that if it’s me or her, Tony’s gonna want her. Now  _ go _ .”

“That is not tr-,”

“GO!”

This time, Rhodey listened. He shot out of the warehouse. Regret churned in his gut as he gathered his niece closer in his arms as they flew across New York City. Tears were already beginning to brew in his eyes. God, what had he just done?

He had just left Peter to die. 

No, no, Peter could do this. He was  _ Spiderman _ . 

“Uncle Rhodey?” Morgan was frantic. “You forgot Petey! You forgot my brother!”

Tears gathered in Rhodey’s eyes behind the Iron Patriot mask.  _ I know _ . “It’s okay, Morgan. You know Peter’s a hero. He saves people, remember?”

“But who’s gonna save Peter?!”

He was going to be sick. The eyes, the fingers, the bloody wrists. God, he had left a suicidal kid to fight by himself. God,  _ no _ . 

No one was going to save Peter. No one had ever saved Peter. 

Peter had always had to save  _ himself _ . 

_ Heaven, please forgive me _ . 

“Uncle Rhodey! You have to go back for Peter!”

“I can’t,” he choked. “I can’t, Pumpkin. I  _ can’t _ .”

“But he’ll die!” she screamed, struggling in his iron grip. She began slamming her little fists against his chest. They landed on the Tower docking strip and immediately were swarmed by the other Avengers. Tony took Morgan and hugged her close, but as soon as she started screeching bloody murder. Rhodey got out of the Iron Patriot armor right before it shut down entirely, the wiring had developed a malfunction after having been shot by the villain who had kidnapped Morgan. 

“Where’s Peter?” Steve asked instantly as he helped Rhodey stand. The look in his eyes must have been enough because Natasha gasped.   
“No.”

And then Rhodey sobbed. 

None of them would be able to make it there in time. It was up to Peter. 

If Peter couldn't do it… if he didn’t want to do it…

_ God, please, if you’re out there. Please, just save Peter Parker _ . 

They all stumbled into the giant conference room, Morgan having been passed off to Pepper. Tony had almost punched Bucky when he implied that he should stay with his wife and daughter. 

“Stark, your kid needs her da-,”

“My kid is fighting alone and if you think I’m going to go sit in a toddler’s bedroom when Peter could die then you are just as stupid as I thought you were.” 

Natasha was bringing up street footage. 

It wasn’t pretty. The street outside the warehouse was engulfed in flames. Rhodey gasped. He had only left that place  _ minutes  _ ago. What had they done that had destroyed so much so quickly?

“Peter? Peter, come in! Come in, Spiderman!”

_ “I can hear you loud and clear, Widow.” _

The room let out a collective sigh of relief. “Status, Parker.”

_ “Uh, there’s a villain.”  _ Something was off about Peter’s voice.  _ “I think he has some kind of fire power. He’s doing some real damage on the - SHIT!”  _

Suddenly, a red and black figure appeared on the footage. He flew across the screen and slammed into a building. The onlookers held their breath. The image zoomed in, F.R.I.D.A.Y. making the picture as high definition as possible. Peter was struggling to his feet. The villain appeared. 

The most horrifying part wasn’t the villain though. It was not the flames or the screaming civilians. 

The most horrifying part was Peter. 

In slow motion it seemed, he wiped his busted lip, wiped his fingers under his bleeding nose. His eyes were dead, glazed, uncaring. He tapped his earpiece and his raspy voice echoed in the tower.  _ “Is Morgan safe?” _

Tony did not reply. He couldn't. 

Rhodey swallowed around the anguish gathering in his throat. “She’s safe, Pete. You did god, kid.”

On the screen, Peter’s shoulders fell.  _ “Yeah?” _ God, how childish Peter sounded there, how desperate for just one person who would tell him ‘well done’. 

“Yeah, kiddo. So good. The best.”

The smallest, faintest hint of a smile graced the kid’s bloody mouth. 

Rhodey knew what this was. This was Peter asking for permission. May had mentioned this a few weeks ago. 

They were too late. 

There wasn’t enough _time_. 

“Hey, kiddo?” 

_ “Hey, Rhodey?” _

He sobbed at the playful response. Even now, even right then when Peter understood that they  _ knew _ , that this was it, he was trying to make them smile. “You know we love you, right?”

He coughed wetly, though from blood or tears Rhodey couldn't tell. The villain was getting closer. 

_ “What?” _

“Yeah, bud.” Rhodey glanced at his best friend. He had never seen that expression on Tony’s face before, but he knew if this happened, it would never leave. “Yeah, Pete. We love you three thousand.” 

The villain was summoning all the fires around them in a wall. They were about to watch Peter Parker burn to death. 

_ “I don’t deserve… I’m not worth that.” _

They had failed him. They had failed him so badly. 

They wouldn't fail him now. 

“Oh, Peter,” Rhodey cried. “You’re so worth it.”

“ _ I- _ ,” His breathing was becoming heavier. It was the smoke intake. “ _ I love you too. I love you guys so much. Thank you… thank you for being my family _ .”

Rhodey wanted to say something about how it was their pleasure, that Peter shouldn’t thank them, that they should be apologizing. Tony interrupted him.

“Peter?” Tony’s hoarse voice pierced the silence. “Peter, Pete. Come back to me, buddy. Come back, you hear?”

All they could see was the flames. There was no sign of Peter.

“Peter? Peter, come  _ home _ .”

Silence. Rhodey wondered if Peter was sorting through eternity when he went quiet. He wondered if he was imagining heaven at this moment. He had been given permission. He had been told it was  _ okay _ . 

Rhodey hoped, wherever he ended up, he was  _ happy _ . 

“Baby?” Tony moaned brokenly. 

Nothing. Natasha broke down and would have fallen to the floor if Sam hadn’t caught her. Steve turned to slam his fist into the wall. He did it again and again and probably would have done it until he broke the barrier, but his husband gently grabbed his bleeding hand and held it to his chest. They both began to cry. Rhodey stared, eyes wide and wet, at the screen in front of him. 

Tony wasn’t breathing. 

Rhodey had often envied Tony before. His life had been filled with money and adoring fans. He had a loving wife and daughter, a family.

He did not envy him now. 

Rhodey leaned against the table, holding a hand against his mouth as he was crushed by throat agonizing sobs. 

And then...

“ _ Dad _ ?”

  
  
  


“Hey, Dad?” 

Tony glanced up from his hologram and into the sad, tired eyes of his son. They had looked like that for a very long time, he thinks. He wondered if he could ever be good enough to cure that deep soul-sadness. 

“Yeah, kiddie?” 

“I think I’m depressed.”

The world froze. 

Peter looked up from the hospital bed, fingers twitching against each other. They were wrapped in bandages for the burns, so he couldn't tear away his skin, but Tony couldn’t help seeing them as Clint had described. All torn and bloody, scabbed over and over. They were almost burned all the way to the bone because of that fucking villain last week, so he couldn't pick at them now anyway, but the image still haunted Tony. 

That and all the other fucking images. 

“Yeah?”

Peter nodded, wide brown eyes searching for… something. “I feel really sad.”

God, he knew that already, but hearing it straight from Peter’s mouth made it a thousand times worse. After everything that had happened, all the signs, Tony should have realized. He should have fucking known. But no. No, he was just a narcissistic asshole who was oblivious to the suffering his son was going through. 

“I’m so sorry, kiddo. I’m so sorr-,”

“Why are you apologizing?” Peter’s head tilted to the side and for a small moment Tony could convince himself that this was just another patrol injury. Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong except for his added grey hairs and the homework that Peter needed to catch up on. 

One look into the kid’s eyes was enough to see reality. 

“It’s not your fault,” Peter smiled weakly. “I’m - I’m just sad.” 

Suddenly, the realization seemed to hit the boy. His chest hitched. His eyes widened and suddenly filled with tears. 

“I’m just really fucking  _ sad _ .” 

And then he was sobbing. Full on bawling into his scorched hands and God, that was possibly the worst sound that Tony had ever heard, and he had heard Peter begging to ‘not go’. He immediately moved to the boy’s side, grabbing him and pulling him into his chest and kissing his head again and again. 

“It’s okay, bud. It’s alright, Peter.” 

“No it’s n-not,” he cried. “Nothing is o-okay. I’m so s-sad!”

“That’s okay, baby. That’s okay.”

“It’s n-not! I’m supposed to b-be a h-hero!”

Tony pulled him closer. He understood this feeling. He understood it too well. They were so alike, he and Peter. He should have known that this was happening. 

Tony should have done a lot of things.

Peter snuggled closer, trying desperately to get his breathing under control. “I don’t want to f-feel like th-this anymore, Dad.”

Oh.

Peter was searching for  _ help _ . 

“Oh,  _ Peter _ .” Tony pulled back far enough to make sure that he had Peter’s full attention when he said it. “Peter, look at me baby.”

He obeyed, because he always listened when it counted. 

“You’re gonna be okay.”

Brown eyes crinkled with disbelief.

“Peter.  _ Peter _ .”

Tony wiped away every single tear. Even his own. 

“You’re gonna be okay.”

He was trembling. 

“I promise.” 

Peter gasped, doubling over and sobbing again but it was okay. That was okay. A few words didn’t fix him. Peter would still have depression, he would still struggle with suicidal thoughts and actions. 

But Dad promised. 

And Dad never,  _ ever  _ went back on his promises. 

And for the first time since Peter had come back, his soul didn’t feel so heavy. 


End file.
